


Charm Bracelet

by WhiskeySoda



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Clone Jeongin, District 9 AU, Foursome, Jealousy, M/M, Multiple Jeongins, Oral Sex, Past Sexual Abuse, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Porn With Plot, Rimming, Selfcest, Woojin is in a relationship with multiple Jeongin clones, extended au universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 16:17:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15777633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiskeySoda/pseuds/WhiskeySoda
Summary: Jeongin slips a thin woven cord around his wrist. Attached to it, a small collection of beads and trinkets. Some of them he recognizes, and others must be extracted from the sacred insides of Jeongin’s pockets, or the holy cigar box underneath their bed from which all good things come. Woojin wears each Jeongin proudly like the cluttered and disjointed bracelet around his wrist. Eclectic, unwieldy, and frayed at the edges, he loves them all so much.





	Charm Bracelet

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ: If you comment, and say derogatory things about me in the comments, I will ask you to stop commenting. If you continue to comment, I will report you to ao3 staff. AO3 staff has in fact taken action against individuals who have harassed me. MY WORK DOES NOT VIOLATE TOS AND THEREFORE AO3 STAFF WILL NOT REMOVE MY WORKS. Also, IF YOU THREATEN ME WITH VIOLENCE ON TWITTER, I WILL FIND THE TWEET AND I WILL REPORT YOU. 
> 
> For those of you that are here for a good time, this will make sense if you read my other Woojin/Jeongin work first. It also makes references to other fics I've written, but they're not essential. Also, don't worry about keeping track of which Jeongin is doing what. It's just a big boy pile.

Jeongin slips a thin woven cord around his wrist. Attached to it, a small collection of beads and trinkets. Some of them he recognizes, and others must be extracted from the sacred insides of Jeongin’s pockets, or the holy cigar box underneath their bed from which all good things come. “What’s this?”

“A long time ago,” Jeongin speaks with a smile. “I had a bracelet. It had uh-“

Woojin interrupts Jeongin with a kiss, short and chaste upon his lips.

“A few crystal beads. A bronze charm that looked like a dog. A pewter angel.”

“A charm bracelet.” Woojin responds.

“Yeah,” Jeongin agrees. “A charm bracelet.” Jeongin’s lips brush against Woojin’s once more with enough pressure to make him want to deepen the kiss, but soft enough that he can pull away at a moment’s notice, and further fan the flames of desire. “All the little things had meaning.” Implying that all of the beads, rubbish to those who did not know any better, held meaning too. “Do you like it?”

_Plastic Purple Bead_

Woojin finds Jeongin in an overflowing, ice cold bath. Woojin dries him off with a fluffed white towel and takes him home. The journey of falling in love with Jeongin is long, meandering, and not without detour.

He sees Jeongin picking and eating mint leaves straight from the garden. Jeongin pulls sprigs of lavender from the bushes and puts them in the button holes of Woojin’s shirts. Jeongin wakes up before the sun comes up, and Woojin wakes to the soft subtle pressure of Jeongin’s eyes warm and loving upon him.

Jeongin was comfortable with loving Woojin from the start. Slowly, steadily, Jeongin becomes comfortable with himself.

Only then does Woojin becomes comfortable with loving Jeongin.

_Plastic Rosary Cross_

Felix clocks him coming out of the shower.  Woojin and Jeongin went in together. Somehow, they managed to wash out each other’s hair, and scrub down each other’s bodies before bitter soap suds kisses became unsatisfying. Jeongin sank to the floor and took him into his mouth. Woojin worked his fingers deep inside of Jeongin, with the promise of more later.

When the soap was finally washed from Woojin’s hair, he toweled himself dry. Jeongin stayed underneath the weak spray of water, because he didn’t mind if the water ran cold. They didn’t have a bath, and he just wanted to be submerged.

Felix rounds the corner too fast, bumps into his chest, but doesn’t skip a beat.  Rough, to the point of being crass, “I can see your dick in those shorts,” bob of the throat and a smirk that Woojin couldn’t tear himself away from. “Like what I see.”

Whatever response that he would’ve stammered dies on his tongue as a body bumps against him again, this time from behind.

In a flash of jet black hair and oversized t-shirt, Jeongin moves past him in a flash lunging for Felix. Woojin whips around fast, wedging himself in-between. What he sees isn’t his Jeongin, but the blown wide, confused and murderous eyes of an I.N. Unit.

“What the--Woojin, get him off of me!”

Woojin wedges his body in between the two, and talks Jeongin down. “Jeongin, I’m yours.”

Clenched tight mouth falls into a loose frown.

“Jeongin, it’s fine.”

Pinhole dilated eyes, grow wider, readjusting to the dim light of the corridor.

“Jeongin, I love you.”

_Round Spacer Bead_

Jeongin finds another I.N. Unit when Woojin is knocked unconscious on Jeongin’s first mission. Botched beyond all repair, Jeongin throws himself in harms’ way as soon as Woojin’s position was compromised.

After all, I.N. Units are loyal, to the point of self-destruction.

When Woojin wakes from being knocked out cold, the first thing he can hear is Jeongin’s voice. Even under distress, his voice is beautiful.  Jeongin sounds warped and distorted as he speaks. “I should kill you, because you’d kill me.”

It would be expected of Jeongin to stare at the other I.N., mouth agape in shock. It would be expected of him to furrow his brow, and tighten his fist. To cast a glance to Woojin’s side in confusion and hurt. Instead, Jeongin maintains constant eye contact with the mirror image of himself.

Whether it is injury or fear, Woojin’s body feels cemented to the floor by spilled blood.

The I.N. unit on the floor nods his head slowly, deliberately at Jeongin, in a cold yet defiant yes.

“But I’m not like you,” Jeongin’s voice becomes more confident as he talks. “So, I’m not going to

kill you, and you’re going to let us leave.”

_Smashed Moxie Bottle Cap_

Weeks after Jeongin left this other I.N. Unit with a cut brow and a bruised ribcage, he returns unannounced.

“You should go to bed.” Contrary to Woojin’s words, he squeezes Jeongin tight around the middle. Jeongin sits in Woojin’s lap as he watches the monitors, as it is his job to have night watch this week. Soft lips graze the soft raspberry colored mark on the juncture of Jeongin’s neck that never seems to go away.

“I’ll stay up just a little longer.”

A comfortable silence wraps around their bodies and draws them closer.

But like most quiet moments which occur in the compound, the intimacy is grabbed away from them all to quickly. The harsh chime of the alarm goes off. “Oh no,” Woojin mumbles as Jeongin leaps out of his lap, and mashes the button on the console since he’s closer to it than Woojin.

The night vision camera is grainy and distorted, but what he sees on the screen is undeniable.

“Woojin?”

A mirror image of himself stands before them. His mouth moves, but the audio is muted on the camera. An unhealed cut above his eye suggests that this is the I.N. unit he allowed to escape on the botched mission.

“Woojin, turn on the sound.”

The audio comes in at what seems like the end of a long diatribe of raw, poorly articulated emotion and vulnerability. The sound that spills from the back of his throat is high-pitched and frightened. “I just realized, I’m not like that either. I want to help you.”

_Yellowed Plastic Pearl Bead_

The new I.N. Unit says that his name is Jeongin. The others are slow to learn the differences between them, and quick to suggest a nickname, but Woojin won’t deny him a name.

The differences between First Jeongin and Second Jeongin are subtle, but present. Where the First Jeongin insisted upon wearing his hand me down clothing, even though it dwarfed his smaller frame, the Second Jeongin seeks brighter colored clothing. He’s gifted a day glow orange sweater from Felix, and pair of bright blue leggings from Hyunjin. Where the First Jeongin belted out trot music as if it were a hymn, the Second Jeongin is addicted to folk music. He makes scratching noises on the radio equipment and insists that it, “sounds just like t’ong guitar.” Where First Jeongin was warm and inviting, Second Jeongin is guarded to the point of being standoffish.

Where the First Jeongin clung to him like a wet shirt to skin, the Second Jeongin adhered not to him, but to the First Jeongin, like burrs to denim in dry underbrush.

Woojin has seen the way that the others interact. Couples grow into triads, and break off into new couples, some awkward gestalt with easily swapped out components. First, it was Chan and Changbin. Then, it was Chan, and Changbin, and Jisung. First, it was Minho and Jisung. Then, it was Minho, Jisung, and Seungmin. But, Chan’s crazy about Felix, and Changbin will chase Hyunjin until he gets what he wants. He knows that for them, this is normal.

Yet, for a fleeting moment, it was just him and Jeongin. In a world where they must share everything with the others, it felt really, really good to have something just for themselves.

When he comes back from an excursion in the unspeakable hours of the morning, to find both Jeongins asleep and intertwined in each other’s arms, it’s confusing.

The sight of Jeongin’s thin wrist and large hand splayed wide across the small of Jeongin’s back strikes a hot chord within him. Makes him wonder what it would look like if their lips, parted in sleep, were pressed together. Makes him want to take the First Jeongin, _his_ Jeongin down into the store room, pull down the too large hand me down pants that he wears with the flick of the wrist, and remind him that when Jeongin stares daggers, whether it’s at Felix, or Chan, or any of the others when they get too close, it goes both ways.

But, Woojin grew up without, and has amassed a certain amount of greed from necessity. So, whether it’s clothes, or food, or Jeongin, whatever he has isn’t enough. So, the very thought of the love that Jeongin gives him, multiplied, is far too enticing to stomp underfoot.

His body aches from hours out in the field, and the middle of the bed, right between both Jeongins looks so warm and inviting.

_Chipped Crinoid Stem_

Woojin is accustomed to waking up to the sensation of icy hands upon his body, much like Changbin is accustomed to drinking down the thick black sludge called coffee that Chan brews, or Minho is accustomed to waking up to the heat of the afternoon sun long after all others have risen.

Woojin is accustomed to waking up to the sensation of icy hands upon his body. So, it’s strange when there’s only a single hand resting upon his chest, heavy like a long thick spear of ice, stabbing him in the chest.

_“My last master didn’t like it,”_  the voice sounds muffled, as if the speaker is in the next room.

“ _You don’t have a master anymore. How many times do I have to tell you?”_ He knows this voice immediately. His Jeongin whispers softly, and it pulls him into consciousness.

_“I want you—”_

A soft, startled gasp-exhale noise, and he doesn’t have to open his eyes to know.

Upon opening his eyes, he’s greeted to the sight of First Jeongin leaning over him to kiss Second Jeongin. Their lips fit together perfectly. Their eyes, impossibly wide with wonder, curiosity, and an unparalleled passion for all things in life, remain open through the kiss.

The First Jeongin pulls the Second Jeongin’s lip between his teeth, forcing a gasp from his throat. Muted by Jeongin’s lips, it sounds too ethereal to be real.

When they part with a smack, the First Jeongin shifts so that he’s no longer supporting his weight upon Woojin’s body. Bends to kiss him, and Woojin accepts him immediately. Each swipe of Jeongin’s tongue tells a story, and begs for acceptance of every little detail.

When the kiss is broken, Woojin’s gaze does not linger on the First Jeongin. Instead, he turns to the Second Jeongin.

The Second Jeongin’s lips are chapped and rough. Although his dreams are less frequent, he has a bad nervous habit of biting his lower lip until it bled. Trace the rough patch of the scab across his lower lip, Woojin can feel the place where the skin becomes thick from the cut turned scar on his mouth given to him by the First Jeongin.

Broken as the pieces may be, they fit together so well.

_Smooth Jade Ring_

Minho finds the Third Jeongin when he’s off base, working his job at one of the most expensive brothels in Neo Seoul. So, Woojin finds the Third Jeongin when Minho shows up at his door at three in the morning, dressed in little more than a pair of emerald colored, satin pajamas that left very little to the imagination.

“Woojin,” he sounds breathless and afraid. Sweat beads at his temple, not the kind that comes from physical exertion, but the cold clammy kind that comes from duress of the heart.  Behind him, the features of another person are completely obscured by the black of night.

From the shadows emerges the wide eyed, caged animal expression of an I.N. Unit caught in the strange liminal place between imprinting and freedom. From behind Woojin, Jeongin and Jeongin, the two I.N. Unit’s he’s kept and grown to love, flank him on either side. One Jeongin standing upon his tip toes to rest his head upon his shoulder and look out into the hallway. The other poking his head around his side.  “Woojin, I need your help.”

  _Brass Heart Shaped Locket_

He understands _why_ Minho’s here. They consider him somewhat of an expert at this point. The matter of _how_ he got here, Minho dressed in satin that barely covers his body, the I.N. Unit completely naked and covered in tacky brown blood, remains a mystery. He doesn’t drive, there is no public transport that comes to this place, and to walk would’ve been far too dangerous.

“Can you give us some space?” It’s unfair to ask Jeongins to leave their room, but the last thing that he wants is to move somewhere else, wake someone up, and announce the arrival of yet another I.N. whose volatility has not yet been assessed.

“I’m okay with it,” it’s the first thing the new I.N. Unit has spoken to any of them. “I know what I am.”

“What happened?”

The new I.N. turns to Minho, and looks at him incessantly, as if he expects, no demands him to explain upon his behalf.  

The First Jeongin, moves to the small cupboard to find a spare shirt and pants. The new I.N. dresses with shaking hands and a confused slowness, as if he knows what to do, but he’s waiting for the knowledge to come back to him from the deep recesses of his mind.

“There’s this client. I’ve told you about him.” Minho sits upon the row of cots pushed together and jiggles his leg with an impatience that’s uncharacteristic of him. The whole row of cots creak with protest. “He. He-,” Minho’s gaze trails from the new I.N. to Woojin, and back to the new I.N. “Brought him,” eyes lingering on the I.N. “With him. He’d make the I.N. watch at first. Then he wanted us to fool around together. I didn’t,” For all that Minho defends what he does, he has a deep compassion for those that aren’t there by choice. “I couldn’t. Because I know Jeongin-“ His gaze turns to the First Jeongin, and then the Second. “The client wasn’t happy, so he found someone else.”

“Then what happened?” but Woojin’s gaze is trained on the new I.N. Unit, not Minho. 

“He was nice to me,” the new I.N. supplies. “I came back to him.”

“Did you kill anyone?” Woojin’s voice doesn’t even shake as he asks. He’s gone through this before. With the way things are going, he’ll go through it again, given enough time.

“No.”

“He ripped my door off it’s hinges covered in blood,” Minho responds.

“I _didn’t_ kill anyone,” his voice cracks, fists clench, and eyes screw shut.

“I believe you,” Woojin’s response is simple. The consequences don’t matter so much. What’s been done has been done.

“We’ll get another cot,” his Jeongins interject in unison.

“Great,” Woojin looks at the room, already filled with three beds pressed together. There is simply no room, but there are no other solutions. “Minho, you should stay here tonight?”

“Jisung wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t.” The city will be roaring back to life soon. Morning light is no place for a prostitute covered in blood.

“I want to stay with him,” the new I.N. insists.

_Red Wheel Shaped Pasta_

They take all the thin mattresses off of their frames, because there’s not enough space in what was supposed to be Woojin’s room. Just Woojin. At night they lay out four mattress pads, and in the morning Woojin wakes to one or two still at his side. Rarely is it the four of them together, but he never wakes up alone.

He’d like to believe that he was getting better at this. It took months for he and Jeongin to fit together. Only a matter of weeks for himself, First Jeongin, and Second Jeongin to fit together.

But the Third Jeongin presents a challenge to which there is no simple solution.

On this morning, Woojin wakes to two Jeongins petting his hair and humming softly into his ear. The scene that unfolds before him should be perfection. They’ve been teasing him in his sleep for some time, and so, he’s already hard.  Second Jeongin still worked open from the night before, straddles Woojin’s hips and slides down onto him. First Jeongin kneels beside him, nudges his cock against his lips and fucks his mouth.

Perfection is interrupted at the constant and persistent fact that they’re missing one.  

Woojin is greedy, but his greed does not encompass cruelty. He’d never expect outright for the third to join them. But, he knows that I.N. Units like to be together. There seems to be an inherent safety and comfort when they are among one another. Living in a world that is designed to hurt and take from them, the company of a similar other offers a rare and much needed respite.

At breakfast, all of the familiar faces are there. Changbin complains that the coffee is bitter. Today is Jisung’s turn to make breakfast, and so he serves under seasoned congee with large chunks of roughly chopped pumpkin. There are now so many of them, they have to share spoons. Seungmin and Hyunjin share, passing the bent spoon back and forth between bites, and what begins as practical quickly slip-slides into something sensual.

After parting ways at breakfast, Woojin goes, not to the south corridor as expected but through other, dimly lit passages in their compound. His first instinct is to check Chan’s garden, but he’ll be there soon, tending to the plants. His second thought is to go, perhaps to Jisung’s room. It smells of Minho and may provide some comfort to Third Jeongin. However, he doubts that Third Jeongin has the passcode, and sitting outside may upset him more.

So, at third guess, he takes the long rickety ladder upward towards the surface. The smog is thick in the morning air and stings his eyes. He should’ve brought a mask. True to his intuition, he finds Third Jeongin, bent over a rain water collection bin, arm submerged into the green-gray unfiltered water. Shirt soaked through up to the elbow, he hums softly to himself.

“Jeongin,” is whispered softly, and large doe like eyes rise up to meet his gaze. Woojin closes the distance between them, holds his palm outward and facing upward in offering to Jeongin silently asking permission to touch him.  

The brush of cold fingertips against his palm is tentative. Not scared, but uncertain. Woojin weighs his options, and makes a split second choice. Instead of forcing their fingers to interlock, hot and cold, he simply readjusts, draping his arm around Jeongin’s shoulder. “Jeongin, do you,” words fail him now when he needs them the most. To simply ask if he is alright disregards just how much he’s given to be there with them. “Regret it?”

Waiting for an answer, Woojin too sinks his free hand into the water. Algae thrives at the bottom of the tank, and small water beetles flit back and forth across the surface.

“I miss Minho,” and it sounds like a confession even though everybody knows.

“He’ll be back.” Minho is like a free-spirited cat who escapes through an open window, but always returns at dinner time, bell still tied around his neck. The city is his to roam free, but he always makes the choice to return.

“I feel guilty. Everyone here is so nice to me.” Another pause, and he runs his top row of teeth over his lower lip but doesn’t bite down. A behavior picked up from Second Jeongin, it’s not yet committed to habit. “Everyone is so close.”

“You’ll be close with them in time.” He can see it happening already. He clings to First Jeongin. Third used to sleep at his side on the far end of the bed. Now, First Jeongin has traded places with him, so that Third Jeongin’s body is wedged between Woojin and First. Where First Jeongin and Seungmin have an antagonistic relationship, Third Jeongin is softer and more sensitive. Ear flicks are replaced by back hugs.

“I want to be close to you.” The positioning is awkward. Third Jeongin’s fingers tremble as he reaches for Woojin’s underwater. They link, but don’t interlace fully, and in some ways it’s wholly representative of their relationship as it stands.

“We will be.”

“Woojin?” His name on his lips is so rare that it sounds strange and almost foreign. “Can I try kissing you?”

“Yeah.”

The trickle-whorl sound of water sloshing in the container is accompanied by the clammy wet sensation of Jeongin’s hand cupping his face. Woojin mirrors his actions, resting his dry hand upon his hip, and his damp one pushing Jeongin’s hair away from his face.

Jeongin presses Woojin’s face downward towards his own, and guides their lips together with a sigh.  Smelling of smog and stagnant water while the sun just barely above the horizon, the moment belongs to just the two of them, something rare and something treasured.

Woojin was comfortable with loving this Jeongin from the start. Each day, he can see how this Jeongin becomes comfortable with himself. Only then does this Jeongin become comfortable with loving Woojin.

For for this reason, it may be the best first kiss Woojin has ever had.

_Rusted Skeleton Key_

“How’s he doing?” Chan speaks as if he already knows the answer. Chan’s garden, a sanctuary off limits without invitation, have become an unruly playground for the three Jeongins. They braid flowers into one another’s hair, and eat berries from vines instead of picking them to share with the group.

First Jeongin stops playing with Second Jeongin’s hair to rub the skin at the nape of his neck. Then, the Third Jeongin sneaks in, planting a kiss on both of their cheeks in rapid succession. This causes the other two to gang up on the third, tickling him until his laughter becomes boring, and they decide to silence him by slotting their mouths over his. Then, they take turns kissing him until they turn to one another and collide in a sloppy open mouthed kiss.

“He still cries for Minho sometimes. Mostly at night. Usually we can calm him down, but—”

“Nothing works better than when he sees Minho.”

“Right,” it’s unrealistic to expect Minho to work him through it. Wouldn’t be safe to take him back to the brothel, and Minho wouldn’t put him back into that situation even if it were.

“Don’t you think it’s strange?” Chan asks.

Whenever Woojin is with them, they understand that there is a time, and there is a place. Poorly concealed desire manifests itself in the form of hot blushes that travel from their cheeks to their chests. They’ll interlace their icy fingers with his own, or their fingers will linger too long on the lapels of his shirt.

But when the Jeongins are left to their own devices, desire leaks out from every seam. Soft kisses on the cheeks and the lips quickly build into sloppy, open mouthed kisses between them. One or two undone top buttons are ripped away to greedily explore more skin. He’s lost count of the number of times he’s walked into First Jeongin on his hands and knees, and Second Jeongin buried deep inside of him. Most of the time, Woojin can’t untangle them from one another, and finds it far easier to simply weave himself in the cracks between.

He has three partners that look identical. Their names are the same, but their personalities shine through. The Third Jeongin reads voraciously, eats sparingly, and gives most of his rations to the second Jeongin. Where the first two love music, he listens to bursts of static on the radio intently. Woojin suspects that he’s shy. Not just afraid that freedom will be torn away, but legitimately timid, unlike the other two.

Of course, it’s strange.

“Chan,” Woojin’s mouth curls into a smile. He’ll never let go of the opportunity tease Chan relentlessly, so he entertains the remark. “How did you and Changbin happen?”

“He was terminally ill, and I used my raw life force to not only heal him, but alter his body so that he was physically strong enough to free me from a place I’d been imprisoned for years.”

Woojin doesn’t skip a beat. “And Minho?”

“Prostitute with a heart of gold that took me in when I was dying in Changbin’s arms.”

“And Jisung?”

“Prostitute’s boyfriend who had access to a greenhouse that could keep me alive. So…we kind of…We kind of kidnapped him.”

“One more,” Woojin goads. “Felix.”

“My childhood friend who was involved in a freak industrial accident with me turning us into humanoid plant hybrids. We were sent to different testing facilities, and my memories of him were erased.”

“So yeah,” Woojin laughs. “It’s really weird. So is everyone else’s relationship. But--” Woojin’s voice trails off as his hand trails upward, from Chan’s kneecap to his thigh, stopping just at the crest of his hip.

It’s something that he was too timid to do before he met First Jeongin, and something that he wouldn’t have been able to do had he not found Second Jeongin. Now, an understanding exists between the four of them, himself and his Jeongins.

Their love grows exponentially, spills over the sides, and has to be shared.

“Woojin?” Chan asks in a voice that fights frustration and exhaustion simultaneously. Chan depends upon his team, but lives in fear that one day the burden of the requests that he makes will be too much to bear.

“Yes Chan?” In the back of his mind, that strange place where the back of his neck meets the skull, that place that burns each and every time he can tell something is wrong with a Jeongin, he already knows what is going to be asked of them.

“When your new team is ready, we have a mission for you.” His mouth curls into an uneven half smile. So slight, that if they hadn’t been close, he would’ve missed it. “Before you say no, you should have Minho address you on the details.”

_Silver Anchor Charm_

“You look _really_ good,” First Jeongin smooths the silk of his tie against his chest.

“Well,” Woojin’s never been one for _this_ kind of espionage. He’ll sneak in, take what he needs, and disappear into the cover of night. But dressing up and playing a part? Well, that’s more Minho’s thing…Which is why they stand in the middle of Minho’s room at the brothel, clothes from his wardrobe strewn everywhere. Minho’s suit does fit him well. They’re almost the same height, and although his chest is a bit broader, the jacket looks smooth so long as he doesn’t try to button it. “I feel awful.”

Second and Third Jeongin lie upon the bed dressed in Minho’s clothes too, black lace shorts, black collars, and little else. Although Second Jeongin’s arm has been draped protectively over Third Jeongin from the start, Third Jeongin’s eyes are glued to Minho.

“For the right reasons?” Jeongin asks with his large, powerful hand splayed over his heart.

“And the wrong ones.” Woojin becomes transfixed with the way that Third Jeongin coos into every slight touch given to him by Minho. Tousle of the hair, and flick of the ear, he seems to grow drunk on the way that Minho dotes upon him.

Perhaps the only thing keeping his head level right now, isn’t the way that First Jeongin coddles him now right before the mission, but the way that Jisung looms near Minho. Jealousy is a thin film on his expression. It’s undesirable, to take satisfaction in someone else’s displeasure, but it’s also nice to be reminded that the way that they live is difficult, even though they want it so badly it hurts.

“Woojin,” and although Jeongin has never spoken to him in true anger, what he gives him is worse. Faint, but present disappointment tinges his voice. “Grow up. It’s their first time in the field.”

_Plain White Button_

The five of them, Woojin, Minho, and Jeongins, entertain their target in Minho’s room while Jisung stands just outside in case if anything goes south. There’s an advantage in being on Minho’s home turf.

The mark feels comfortable here, shrugs his sportscoat immediately and hands it off to Second Jeongin. Perhaps too comfortable. When he sits down upon the sofa, not between the two other scantily clad Jeongins as anticipated, but next to Woojin.

It’s Woojin’s job to protect them from the world, big, scary and intangible things like fear, and loneliness, and isolation. Remind them that they are human and that they are loved. It’s Jeongins’ job to protect him from physical harm. Block a punch and land their own. For the first time in a long time, Woojin realizes just how small and powerless he feels when he isn’t flanked by his three companions.

“Minho tells me that you may have something that I’d like,” Woojin’s voice is firm and confidant. His mind? Completely blank. He can feel every tuft of mohair as his damp palms slide back and forth on the wine red sofa.

“You seem to be a connoisseur,” and the target’s mouth opens in a gaping wide grin that threatens to eat them all alive. His teeth are too small for his mouth, and it makes it hard for Woojin to look him in the eye.

But, what the stranger reveals from the sleek black suitcase at his feet is even harder to look at. It’s large, almost as long as the sofa on which they sit. The target first enters a code onto the electronic lock at the center, and then the left side, and the right. Afterward, he presses his finger onto the print reader.

When the case is opened, time stands still as _everyone_ holds their breath.  

Knees tucked up to his chin, and made to look so small, an I.N. Unit lies curled on his side completely naked. A series of opaque black tubes run from his back into a panel on the case. From the front, clear wires filled with bright orange-red fluid, run into a glass receptacle. The liquid is close to the shade of, but so obviously not. Woojin can see neither the rise, nor fall of his chest, but he can hear something like the soft pneumatic _puff_ - _exhale_ that almost sounds like breathing. “He’s brand new—”

They’re interrupted by the _crash_ of First Jeongin, tasked with serving drinks, dropping a crystal glass decanter of whiskey upon the floor. The scent wafts across the room in an ominous, invisible cloud burning Woojin’s eyes and nostrils.

First Jeongin’s eyes narrow and focus upon the body on the floor, lip quivering, fists clenched, he becomes a ticking time bomb.

And the target douses accelerant on the fuse. “He’s never imprinted, never been touched.”

Usually, Minho is the flint that makes spark. He’s more than comfortable with being the catalyst that sets any good mission into motion. Now? Everything’s turned on it’s side and jammed backwards. Minho moves for First Jeongin’s arm, leans into his space, and whispers something to try to calm him into his ear.

“Maybe you’re looking for a replacement. Not an addition.”

Everyone in the room held their breath when the case was opened, and kept holding it despite the belief that First Jeongin would falter and that Second and Third could just as easily follow.

When Woojin rises, hauls the target up by the shirt, and decks him the face, everyone in the room has the wind knocked out of them, exhaling by force.

_Enamel Lavender Charm_

The debriefing process takes longer than the mission itself, but the details are intricately folded, and the successes and failures are hidden in crevices. It takes time to explore each and every one within his memory, and tell Chan exactly what had happened. When he’s in Chan’s room, flanked by Jisung, and prodded on every single last detail, he wants nothing more than to go back to his room. He knows Jeongins have pulled the mattresses down from their stacked position in the corner and wait for him.

But the mind is a strange thing. When the meeting finally concludes, Woojin talks slowly down the hallway. Stops at the galley for a glass of cloudy powdered milk from their rations, and then at the common room. Although Seungmin is there, he has very little to say to him.

If he cannot bring himself to go to his room, there’s only one place to go. He watches a finger with dry cuticles and broken index nail press the lift button downward, but it hardly looks like his own body. Looking downward, he watches feet still dressed in Minho’s too tight loafers shuffle into the elevator. The shoes are far too polished and shiny to have his own feet stuffed inside.

When he reaches the subbasement, he’s greeted to the sight of the Fourth Jeongin. Removed from the case, but still hooked into various devices including clear tubes that continue to push orange fluid inside of his chest. Now, there’s a tube connected to his nose, and the pneumatic, labored breath like sounds are gone. Although the target said that he was a clean slate, Woojin can see the way that Jeongin’s brow furrows in discomfort. The skin between his cheek bone and eyelid twitch as if he were being pinched over and over. This Jeongin, although he hasn’t lived a day yet, has experienced pain. “What happens when I can’t take you home?”

And Woojin’s wrong. So wrong. It’s not Woojin’s job to protect them from the world. He can’t because there’s no one there to protect him. Even if there were he wouldn’t want it that way. And so, the best they can do is experience it all together.

“I wonder what you’re going to be like. Do you like trot too?” Woojin grazes his cheek with his thumb, and he’d like to believe that Jeongin’s expression softens.  “Will I ever catch you eating dirt? Bet I will.” He pushes the hair back away from his face. “Your body. Something about it, you need a lot more protein than us. Don’t eat dirt. The others have extra rations they keep with them.”  

“Woojin,” his name cuts through the air and sends a jolt down his spine. “He won’t be ready for awhile, at least a few more days.” Woojin turns away from the Fourth Jeongin, back toward the door to the chamber, to find that Changbin has entered the room. His face is illuminated by the harsh glow of blue light, and the reflection of the code that crawls across the screen can be seen in the whites of his eyes.

Hyunjin joins them, his arm strapped into an electronic glove, goggles resting at the crest of his brow. “Hey, boss wants you in debriefing.”

But he’s just spent hours talking with Chan.

As if he can sense Woojin’s annoyance, Hyunjin interjects. “Your new team You need to debrief them.”

_Woman’s Golden Wedding Band_

The journey back to Woojin’s room is much faster than the long meandering walk down the corridors and into the subbasement. When he finally reaches his room, he stands before the door, unable to cross the threshold. Time stands still as he stands outside the door. Despite everything that he’s learned about the First, Second, and Third Jeongin, he feels as if he were transported back in time to a few months ago when he only had one Jeongin and he knew nothing at all.

His deep contemplation is interrupted by the sound of the tumbler of the lock turning open, and the door being thrown wide by first Jeongin. Dressed in one of Woojin’s oversized sleep shirts, he can see the hint of black lace stick out from underneath the hem.

Peaking over First Jeongin’s shoulder, he finds of the mattresses are pulled down onto the floor. The room smells faintly of lavender, several sprigs bunched together and submerged in an ancient glass Coke bottle.

Second Jeongin sits upon the lower corner of the mattress Pangea, his legs tucked up under his body. Third Jeongin sits with Second.  Arguably the shiest in demeanor, but the most used to Minho’s world, Third Jeongin stays in his lace panties, and makes no attempt to cover up.

Second Jeongin reaches for Third Jeongin, tickling him underneath the chin, and earning a retaliatory poke.

Having spent more time in the field, Second Jeongin has shed the clothes given to him by Minho completely. Wears a shirt, and nothing else. His cock is half hard from whatever teasing the other Jeongins have forced him to endure in his absence. Soft lines of his ass are revealed when he rises from the mattress, helps Third to his feet, and balances a green glass bottle between his fingers.

First Jeongin looks at him with an impish smile, “are you just going to stand out there and make us wait?”

There’s music playing softly in the background, not one of their favorite trot songs, but something slower and more melodic. It’s the kind of thing that he used to play through a busted tin speaker on the street and sing to for coins. The music pulls on his lapels in tandem with Jeongin’s hands, and he’s dragged into the room.

Icy in temperature, but never cold in demeanor, Jeongin’s lips slot against his own. The kiss is urgent, but not rushed. Jeongin deepens the kiss slowly, taking time to let down the porcelain simper that he wears in the compound. Sighing into Woojin, Jeongin swipes his tongue across his lips, and then Jeongin pulls back.

Makes him feel the water before he lets him drown.

When they part, First Jeongin snatches the bottle away from Second who stands at his side. First Jeongin taking a sip, and then raises the glass bottle to Third Jeongin’s lips, Woojin can see the liquid slosh in the bottle and dribble out the side of his lips. First Jeongin moves to lap it away, raspberry tongue darting out across soft white skin.

“Woojin,” and all of a sudden, the strange trance like state that happens when the I.N. units are all together, is broken. The insistent gaze is turned on him. Six eyes look upon him and see the world. “Have some wine?”

There is no response, simply his lips meeting Third Jeongin’s. Wine, syrupy sweet, is transferred from Jeongin’s tongue to his mouth. With a mouthful of wine Woojin greedily cups two handfuls of smooth skin blanketed in black lace. Where First Jeongin is cautious with him, Third Jeongin is nothing but reckless, unbridled want. Jeongin’s cock presses against the waistband of his panties, and pressed against Woojin’s thigh, and it feels so good after throwing it all away tonight.

The bottle being turned upward makes a sloshing sound right before Second Jeongin slots himself behind Woojin. Pressed against another hard cock, Woojin has no choice but to turn to Second Jeongin and kiss the wine off of his tongue. Jeongin loosens his tie, and when the silk ribbon is dangling around his neck, they’re interrupted.

“You’re so good to us Woojin.” First Jeongin kisses him with the demanding fire that only comes from knowing a partner’s body like the back of his hand. Unbuttons his shirt seamlessly, without so much as breaking the kiss.

“We love you,” is husked into his ear and embraces his whole body. Sticky wine stained lips stamp  a bruise onto the juncture of his neck. Another mouth, latched to his chest, mouths an identical mark onto the supple skin of his pectoral. Then, it’s repeated on his nipple. Jeongin, he’s not sure which, rolls his tongue over the soft sensitive skin until it’s peaked and hard. “So much.”

Hands reach for his belt, pop the buckle with a _clink_ and push his pants downward.

“We want to show you,” one voice becomes two, two becomes three. They mix and intertwine between syllables, before setting each other free once more. Three becomes two as a Jeongin kisses him once more, “how much.” Lips trail down the small of his back resting on his tailbone, and two voices becomes one. “You mean to us.”

Six cold hands glide over every inch of his body, turning his skin to pebbled gooseflesh. Then, they sooth Woojin back into warmth with the palms of their hands and the press of their lips.

Simple, but the absolute truth spills from his lips “I love you too.”

_Ten Won Coin, Hole Bored in Middle_

There’s a passage in his field notes, from the very early days. “Coordinated, synchronous, they act to overwhelm.” He can see that passage quite clearly in his mind’s eye now, each place where the dry ballpoint pen gave out and he merely scratched against paper.

Right now? The Jeongins work together to overwhelm him. Second Jeongin hovers near him, filling in all the places that the other two miss. Second kisses his open mouth, his jawlinne, and his chest. Tug of lips and teeth at his nipples fade way to fingers circling the puffy, overstimulated skin with the pad of his thumb. Trace the ridges of his spine, and count the indentation of his ribs, there’s no place on his body that does not hum from Second’s touch.

Third Jeongin on his knees, he first drags his tongue up the length of Woojin’s cock. Boldly kissing the tip, he locks eyes with Woojin. Then, he parts his generous lips and takes Woojin into his mouth. Flicking the bead of precum of the tip, he hollows his cheeks as he sucks.

The moan that’s torn from Woojin is lapped up like cherry wine from the bottle by Second Jeongin when they kiss.

“He’s so pretty. Isn’t he?”

Twin sighs respond a soundless, but unsilenced, “yes,” and Woojin swears that that alone is filthier than anything that they do to him.

First Jeongin rests on his haunches at his feet as well, grabbing his ass hard and spreading his cheeks wide. Woojin’s never had this done before, but his trust for Jeongin cuts free the threads of anxiety that wind around his heart.

Kisses at his tailbone, and kisses down the cleft of his ass tickle his skin and turn everything below the crest of his hips into electric sensation.

When First laps a stripe from his perineum across his hole, Third stops toying with the ridge of his cock and swallows him down completely.

Soft tentative laps of the tongue get Woojin wet, and then sloppy. When Jeongin’s tongue tests his entrance, Woojin’s body allows the intrusion.

When his knees grow weak, Second Jeongin is there to hold him upright. When his whole body tenses,  Third Jeongin pulls away from his cock with a thick wet pop. Third holds him tight and keeps him from cumming right then and there. They’re not just satisfied to let First get him ready, they want to make sure that he’s absolutely begging for it.

“Jeongin please-“

“Which one do you want?”

What kind of question is that? He’s been overindulged, and now he’s greedy to the point of petulance. “All of-“ but he’s interrupted by his own low moan and First changing the way that he moves his tongue from long swipes to jabbing motions that start at his hole and shoot up his spine. “All of you.”

“How do you want us?” One voice becomes two.

“How?” one voice melds into two others.

But there’s already a hand guiding him down onto the mattress. On his knees, he sits across from Third Jeongin, and he can taste the distinct tang of himself on Third Jeongin’s tongue when they kiss.

_Red Plastic-Coated Paper Clip_

They don’t let him touch Third Jeongin, at least, not right away. First’s fingers splay across Woojin’s chest and hold him back when he tries to move near. Second gets Third on all fours and spills viscous lubricant down his crack. Allowing it to dribble down the crease of his sac, Second smears it across Third’s hole. Second moves quickly, but not recklessly. Knowing exactly what Third can take, his touches are purposeful, to the point of being methodical.

It’s always a spectacle when the Jeongins touch. A bullet proof body becomes hair trigger sensitive at the bat of a long eyelash. A rose-colored blush is peppered down Third Jeongin’s chest with each scissoring motion of Second’s fingers. Jeongin’s hole, red and stretched, looks obscene as he clenches tight around Second’s fingers. The implication of what Woojin will be allowed to do next sooths the burn in his throat and makes his inability to participate acceptable.

When Second’s short, labored gasps stretch like taffy into breathy sweet moans, and when one finger crooked inside becomes two, Woojin is allowed to move again. First releases his grasp on his chest, and immediately Woojin slots himself into place where Second was.

They move together in perfect unison. Woojin grabs Third Jeongin’s ass while Second grabs the base of Woojin’s cock and guides him inside. It doesn’t matter if this is the first time or the thousandth time, nothing compares to the sight of his cock being pulled into Jeongin’s tight wet heat.

Although their clothing was shed long ago, Third Jeongin’s panties remained, pinning his cock until he was straining against lace. Now, they’re pushed down to his knees.

Of course, Third Jeongin is so responsive. “You feel so good.” very twitch of his cock and roll of his hips seems to wring out so much pleasure in him that it seemed as if he could cum at any moment. And, “you didn’t tell me,” head rolls to the side so that he can look at the other two, “he was so big.”

It takes no time at all for Woojin to abandon the slow, shallow thrusts for something he rarely allows himself: unraveling, heedless abandon. Quick thrusts until he’s almost gone. Then, he alternates with slower, deeper thrusts. Jeongin mewling on his cock the whole way down, Woojin pulls almost all the way out only to push back in slowly.

But this debauchery is short lived, and his rhythm is interrupted as Jeongins have something else planned for him. First Jeongin settles at his back, the tip of his chin digging into the blade of Woojin’s shoulder. The hot puffs of air at his earlobe makes his cock twitch. “Do you trust me Woojin?”

Woojin tilts his head backward, allowing the back of his head to touch upon Jeongin’s shoulder, expectantly waiting for a kiss. “Of course.”

Their lips meet briefly, and Woojin can feel the blunt head of First Jeongin’s cock catch at his entrance. Then there’s pressure. Although Jeongin did his best to stretch him, poured generous amounts of lubricant onto his cock, Woojin’s own body is not as pliant as Jeongin’s, not by a long shot.

“Does it hurt?” First Jeongin whispers into his ear while Third Jeongin pushes back against his cock. The tight squeeze of Third’s body edging out the pressure from First inside of him.

“No.”

“You’re twitching around me,” and he can feel Jeongin’s impish smile pressed against his ear. “He needs another distraction,” and First Jeongin cocks his head to look at Second.

Second Jeongin moves to stand at Woojin’s side.

Cock pressed to his lips, downy soft curls pressed against his nose, Second Jeongin smells musky and tastes divine. He takes Second Jeongin into his mouth all at once, and the muscles in his throat constrict half in protest and half in resignation. His body isn’t used to this kind of intrusion, but let them use him as they see fit.

Finding a rhythm between the four of them is difficult. Disjointed movements from the front and behind jostle him, and force Second Jeongin out of his mouth. Each thrust forces them to recalibrate.

Again.

Again.

Again.

And Again.

When they push the pieces around, rotate the edge, and tesselate into one another, three Jeongins don’t aim to overwhelm him. They aim to bury him alive. When the sting is edged out by soft kisses and whispers into Woojin’s ear, First Jeongin sets a steady, brutal pace. Set into momentum by First Jeongin fucking him, Woojin fucks into Third Jeongin. Second Jeongin holds himself by the base, works the length of his cock with short strokes, and holds the tip of his cock in Woojin’s mouth.

The scent of lavender is edged out by the smell of Jeongin’s skin, and the world is reduced to the three points upon his body where he’s joined to Jeongin. Pain comingles with pleasure. Tears pool in the corner of his eyes, blinding him to anything and everything that is not Jeongin. The smack of skin against skin is hypnotic, drowning out all coherence in his brain until a moan slips from someone’s mouth and sets off a cacophony of sounds. Whimpers of, “Woojin,” and whispers of, “you’re beautiful,” and “are you going to cum for us?”

Each collective shudder of their bodies and each whisper against his skin gives him permission to surrender to the low rolling waves form at the base of his spine near where Jeongin fucks into him and crash in his groin where he fucks into Jeongin.

When Woojin spills deep into Third Jeongin, he’s not awarded the luxury of pulling out slowly and watching Jeongin’s hole gape at first and then close. He doesn’t get to plug his hole with his thumb and watch him whimper around him. Doesn’t get the luxury, but doesn’t mind so much when Second Jeongin pulls out of his mouth to blow his load all over his open mouth and closed eyes.

Before he can lap the cum away from his face, he can feel First Jeongin twitch and cum deep inside of him.

Third Jeongin pulls off of him, and as raw and overstimulated as he is, it _hurts_ more to be torn from Jeongin. Worse still, Woojin’s mouth is barely wrapped around the tip of Third Jeongin’s cock before Third Spills into his mouth. All he’s left with is the ruin of cum smeared across his face and dribbling from the corners of his mouth.

It’s not enough.

His love for Jeongin is so strange. Like the taste of sweet cherry wine, he likes it, but he lived without it in the past. There was a time in Woojin’s life where there was no Jeongin. Like oxygen, he feels as if he’d die without it.

Hands, once cold, but now warm smooth his hair. They wipe the cum from his face and lie him down upon the mattresses. Unlike when he was a child and gorged himself on candy until he was sick to his stomach, he’s certain that this particular vein of gluttony is alright.

_Small Mammalian Vertebrae_

The Fourth Jeongin doesn’t know much Korean at all, but speaks Japanese as if he were born in Osaka. The drawl in his voice gives clues about was intended to be his destiny. In rudimentary Korean, Jeongin speaks his own destiny into existence.

“Hello.” Jeongin’s eyelashes are so long that the lids tremble, even after he’s blinked. His smile is so wide that Woojin can see his back molars from the corner of his mouth. Jeongin’s accent is thick, but he seems to know on instinct, that Woojin only knows Korean. “What’s your name?”

They wake Jeongin in Changbin’s sub-basement laboratory. After the wires and tubes are disconnected, Changbin and Hyunjin disappear into thin air. Not as if they were afraid of Jeongin imprinting, but they seemed to feel that if it happened, it was somehow Woojin’s right. 

“Woojin.” Woojin’s tongue feels thick and swollen in his mouth. His hands feel clammy, and the frantic drumming of his heart rises up over the sound of his voice. “What’s your name?” is asked in earnest, like he doesn’t already know.

“Jeongin,” color rises to his cheeks as he speaks.

Jeongin was comfortable with loving Woojin from the start. Woojin too, was comfortable with loving Jeongin from the start.

Woojin wears each Jeongin proudly like the cluttered and disjointed bracelet around his wrist. Eclectic, unwieldy, and frayed at the edges, he loves them all so much.


End file.
